


No OPLAN Ever Survives Initial Contact

by Luna (lunasky)



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: M/M, Post Series, get some porn skirmish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-08-14
Updated: 2009-08-14
Packaged: 2017-10-05 18:09:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/44587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunasky/pseuds/Luna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nate quietly comes out. Brad finds out and hunts him down.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No OPLAN Ever Survives Initial Contact

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to oxoniensis for her wonderful beta. Written for shoshannagold's birthday and the Get Some Porn Skirmish. Prompt: Post series, Nate (quietly) comes out. Brad finds out and hunts Nate down.

Brad's stomach growls in response to the smell of fried foods and beer mixing in with the thick woody scent of the pub. The last time he ate was breakfast this morning and even then, it was only a greasy burrito from a man with an ice cream cone for a head. Damn if that weren't a fucking metaphor for his life right now.

Really, the whole thing started going downhill the moment he got off the phone two weeks ago. It seems fitting to add gut-rot to his pile of shit now. And the kicker is that this time, Brad has no one to blame but himself. Apparently he lost his ability to rationally analyze things the moment Nate's sister accused him of making her brother gay.

It's Saturday night and the place is packed (Brad should have known; he grinds his teeth in continuing frustration with himself), but lo and behold, it actually works to his advantage. With all the tables full and people standing in the aisles--probably because of the live, folksy, inbred cousin of country music blaring in the background from some guy on an acoustic--it gives him the opportunity to scope out the place without drawing attention to himself.

Exit near the washroom.

Drunk at the bar nursing a rye.

Frat boys at his nine o'clock, half of whom are probably underage. He pays special attention to them because he doesn't want any problems tonight. In the end, he decides that though they're drunk, they're happy drunks, singing along to the music with their beers raised in the air, too absorbed in their own activities to be much trouble.

Eyes fully adjusted to the light, he moves on until he finds his objective in the back.

Ten...eleven...twelve paces and he's in position to see the table he wants. Then there's a flash of red from a dress and a woman with three inch heels steps back, right on his toe. He swallows the chain of profanity about to come forth as she mutters an apology and then it's another three painful steps until he's standing next to the table, one hand on the shoulder of the man sitting across from Nate.

Objective reached. Nate's eyes snap up to him a millisecond before the man's.

"Brad?"

"What the—?" The man stands and twists his body out from under Brad's hand. Brad lets him go and then slides into the seat he just vacated. The man sputters in response. "Can I help you?"

"Not at all," Brad replies, never taking his eyes off Nate because the answer must be in there somewhere. It's only been a month since they last saw each other but it feels like a fucking lifetime ago. Maybe in a way, it was.

"Excuse me!"

"This date's been called off due to matters of national security," Brad expands, finally sparing the man a glance and then jabbing his thumb in the air. "Exit's that way."

The man stands there, opening and closing his mouth like a fish and Brad wishes he would just go. Instead, he gives Brad ample opportunity to commit his face to memory which is yet one more thing Brad doesn't need. Brad doesn't need a face to add to the mental image he has of Nate fucking another man. Especially this loose, unremarkable face that's starting to carry jowls to go along with an already receding hairline. Brad decides he hates this face a lot right now.

Nate may be confused, but he can't possibly be that confused.

However, Baldy seems confused enough for everyone. "What issue of national security? What's going on?"

"If I told you, I'd have to kill you," Brad whispers exaggeratedly.

Unfortunately, Nate doesn't seem terribly amused. He sits with his arms crossed in front of his chest, face slightly flushed. "Brad, what are you doing here?"

Brad reaches for a mozzarella stick, debating several answers to that question. In the end, he decides to keep it simple. "Visiting."

After a few seconds of maybe waiting for Brad to continue, Nate stands and leans toward Baldy. "Stan, this is Brad, we served together in Iraq. Ever since we came back, he hasn't been quite right in the head. Sorry, but I gotta keep an eye on him tonight; never know when he's going to start licking the pavement or talking to imaginary clowns. I'll call you later."

Baldy murmurs something nausea-inducing and awkwardly tries to give Nate a kiss on the cheek. A horrible, gut-wrenching feeling hits Brad in the stomach as he watches Baldy's advance in slow motion and before he even realizes it, his hand is curled into a fist, ready to help the man on his way if he doesn't leave right-the-fuck now. Nate neatly side-steps the kiss giving Stan a pat on the back instead.

"Smooth one," Brad says through clenched teeth when Nate retakes his seat.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" Nate asks coldly, leaning back and as far away from Brad as possible.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" Brad shoots right back. He's tense and off-kilter; Nate's anger is throwing him off even more. He also has no idea how to answer Nate's question.

"It's none of your business."

"Jeannine made it my business when she asked me if I'm the one who made you gay."

That stops Nate in his tracks. "My sister called you?"

"At two o'clock in the fucking morning. I guess she found one of your old calling lists and thought she'd get to the bottom of things, if you'll pardon the pun."

Nate's jaw clenches a little tighter in a look Brad's seen before, though in the past it's been reserved for their ex-CO when calling in danger close fire missions. There's a vein pulsing in Nate's neck and Brad realizes that if he were smart, he'd possibly consider a tactical retreat right about now.

The problem is that he's not feeling terribly fucking smart. In fact, he's feeling a bit like the whole fucking rug's been pulled out from under his feet and he's falling backwards like a pathetic, clumsy idiot who can't even walk straight. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Tell you what?"

"That you've decided to become a pillow-biter, I guess."

A round of applause breaks out around the bar as the singer wraps up his set. When the noise dies down, Nate pushes his chair back, throwing his napkin down as he stands up. "Is that what you came all the way out here to do, Brad? To stop me from making a mistake? Fuck you."

When Nate reaches for his wallet, Brad just reacts. Without thinking, he shoots his hand out and grabs Nate's arm.

"Don't."

Nate tries to jerk his hand away but Brad's grip is good. So Nate leans forward, close to Brad's ear. "I'm fucking trying to deal with some personal shit here, Brad, and I have enough disappointment from my family without adding yours to the mix. I don't need you here trying to fix me. I don't know how you found me here tonight, but you should go home."

Brad tries to recede into his calm void so he can plan his next move carefully, but he's had no training for a situation like this, has no muscle-memory to rely on and the whole plan is gone to fucking hell anyway.

"I'm sorry." It's the truth. He just came here to shoot the shit, laugh about Ray's latest gossip and somehow (and this was the part of Brad's plan where he planned to play it by ear) find answers to questions he wasn't even sure he knew. "I'm not here to fix you Nate. I just came to talk."

Nate stares at him, vein still pulsating, anger still evident in his jaw. But when Brad doesn't release his grip, Nate's eyes move from Brad's hand clutching his arm, and back to Brad's face. All the while, Brad's chest is feeling tighter and tighter. Brad knows he should drop Nate's arm. He knows the look in Nate's eyes is dangerous even though he's never seen it in Nate before. He knows something weird is going on because his heart is pounding in his chest. And instinctively, he knows that if he does let go, Nate will walk out the door and Brad won't find him again.

Brad tightens his grip because he'll be damned if he's gonna let Nate walk out on him now.

After what feels like a year, Nate drops back down into his chair. "You can let go now."

"Are you going to leave?"

"No."

Brad thumbs the hairs on the back on Nate's arm. He's warm and it's such a foreign sensation to be touching him like this. "Are you lying?"

"I would never lie to you, Brad."

"No. But omitting things is just as bad." Brad finally releases his grip and lets Nate pull his arm back into his lap. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"When?"

_Like a month ago_, Brad wants to say but can't figure out a way to say it out loud without sounding accusatory. Nate had plenty of opportunities to mention it during his last trip out west. The two of them had even driven down to San Diego to catch a football game.

Nate barks out a dry laugh. "Sure, I suppose I could have said it between touchdowns. _Go Chargers. Hey Brad, can you pass me the peanuts, and oh yeah, by the way, I think I might have a thing for guys, but I'm not really sure._ That would have gone over real fucking well."

"It would have been better than nothing."

"Would it really?" Nate asks, his tone hard while he's staring Brad down. "Because I have a pretty good idea what must have gone through your head after you found out. Tell me, did you start going over every moment we spent together? Did you start analyzing every single thing I ever said to you? Did our past relationship get called into question because you were suddenly not sure if I was trying to get you home alive from Iraq or I was just trying to find a way into your rack at night?"

Nate's words hit too close to home for Brad to try denying them.

"I thought so," Nate concludes bitterly. "You should have let me walk away just now because I would rather not have had confirmation of that. That's why I didn't tell you."

"Were you trying to get into my rack?" Brad stammers out, suddenly realizing that this is the question he's been needing to ask since he found out. "Because after your sister called, I did exactly all those things you just said. I went through everything I remembered, every glance we shared, every private joke we had, every frustration we shared with each other and I started to put them into the context you just described."

"And did you reach a conclusion?" Nate asks, his voice still cold.

Swallowing past the fucking lump in his throat, Brad forges on. "No. I got a fucking hard-on."

Nate doesn't say anything, just sits there staring so Brad carries on. "I came here to get some answers, to see if there was something going on between us because it never occurred to me before, but now that it has, I can't seem to get it out of my fucking head. So you tell me what the hell is going on."

Nate runs his hand through his hair. "I don't know, Brad. I just--I don't have any answers."

And then the worst possible outcome occurs to Brad. Nate could indeed be gay. Nate could very well have dragged Brad there with him, if someone can be dragged into such a thing because Brad finally realizes that yeah, he's right fucking there too. Explains why the fuck he can't function like a rational person let alone a trained recon marine. But the worse possible thing that could happen is that Nate actually has no interest in him like that at all. Maybe that's why Nate never told him.

"If you don't want me that's fine," Brad lies, because no fucking way is it fine, but what the hell else can he say. "But the fact that you'd rather test out your gayness on Baldy, there? That's insulting."

"Stan."

"Whatever."

For the first time that evening, the beginnings of a smile curl on Nate's lips as he studies Brad's face. "I answered a personal ad in the paper."

Brad feels the tension dissipate a little and goes with it by offering his own half-smile. "Seriously? That's even more insulting."

Nate nods while trying to hide his mouth. When he brings his hand down though, the smile is still threatening to break through. "I thought it wouldn't matter. I thought it would be easier this way; no strings if it didn't work out."

"And we have strings?"

"We have a fucking string quartet wouldn't you say? Besides," Nate says quietly. "I hadn't realized you were open to investigating this further with me."

 

***

Brad pushes Nate forward, guiding him into the men's room. It's busy now the music's ended. Looking around, Brad sees a few empty stalls, but he's not quite foolish enough to drag Nate into one while there are people watching. Gesturing to Nate to take the stall at the end, Brad sidles up to a free urinal.

The frat boy next to him is pissing a fucking river so Brad ends up finishing just as he is. Brad makes a show of eying his varsity jacket when they're tucked back into their pants. "I was in my Sigs chapter in Iowa."

The frat boy gives him a drunken nod, then tries to envelop Brad in a hug. "Brother!"

Brad's quicker though and sidesteps, avoiding the unwashed hands. "Listen, there's some woman out there in a red dress. She's an off-duty cop and she's been watching you guys for a while now. I heard her on her cell calling you guys in for underage drinking."

The frat boy's face pales considerably. "Shit! They told me those IDs were good."

"Don't worry, there's an exit down the hall. But you'd better warn the other guys so there's no one here to answer any questions."

The boy nods and turns to his other friends; one who's still pissing and another who's holding up the wall to keep from falling down himself. "Josh, Sam. You'd better jet. I'll go tell the rest of the guys and meet you back at the house, okay?"

After some panicked shuffling, the bathroom is finally empty. Brad joins Nate in the far stall.

"This place isn't likely to stay empty for long," Nate says as Brad locks the door.

The stall isn't big to begin with, but with the two of them squeezed in it's downright crowded. Brad pins Nate against the wall, skimming his mouth along the side of Nate's face. "Then I guess it will have to be a close recon. It would be foolish to miss this opportunity to gain knowledge of the terrain."

Nate nods against him. "Maybe you're right. We should decide if it's even worth the trouble of starting operations."

Brad nips along Nate's jaw, smooth and smelling like aftershave and Brad's heart starts thudding in his chest. It seems surreal to be standing this close to Nate, to feel the heat radiate off him, to be close enough that they share a boundary layer of air. It sends all his blood to his dick and he hasn't even kissed Nate properly yet. He leans back just enough so he can see Nate's lips. If he only has this one shot, this one kiss to tempt Nate into more, then it had better be the best goddamn kiss Nate's ever had.

Brad's breath actually hitches as he leans closer, throwing off his timing so that he meets Nate's lips without enough air in his lungs. Nate's lips are soft, warm like the rest of him and let Brad sink in too easily, let him feel too much as he presses up against Nate's body. Brad brings his hands up to cup Nate's face and Nate opens his mouth to suck on Brad's lip.

Then their mouths are open and they take. They find each other with their tongues, mark each other with their teeth, hold each other still with their hands and nothing else exists. Not a dirty, smelly washroom. Not a world full of people and their fucking expectations. Not a fucking bald asshole who thinks he gets to have Nate without having to work his life for him.

Brad's dick aches and he presses against Nate's hips. He rubs himself through the thick denim but doesn't stop to undo his pants. He stops Nate from reaching there as well, threading their fingers together instead and holding their hands above Nate's head.

Nate moves his hips, so that it's dick against dick, their bodies lined up as much as possible. And they keep on kissing; feeling each other with their bodies, lips and tongues until Nate eventually throws his head back, panting.

"Have we gathered enough intel?" Brad whispers, grinding harder against Nate's dick.

Nate swallows. "I...I'm going to come in my pants if we don't stop soon."

Brad nods, still nuzzling Nate's ear after he drops their hands and then brings his head back as well. Nate's eyes are almost completely black and Brad feels lightheaded and drunk. "And that would be bad because...?"

"Because I want to take you home and do this right."

The tone of Nate's voice--warm and honest--crumbles whatever small piece of cool Brad's been clinging to up until now. He grabs Nate's head, threads his fingers in Nate's longish hair and takes another kiss, sealing and claiming this for them.

"Does this mean I'm worth the risk?" Brad asks when air becomes a necessity. He wants to be sure and suddenly part of him is glad Nate thinks he's a risk. Because it means if they start this, it won't be just a one night stand; it's a meager tether around his waist before he jumps off the edge, but it's a risk he's happy to take.

Nate looks him square in the eyes. "You're the reason I started to question my sexuality in the first place."

With victory assured, Brad swallows his elation. "That's understandable."

"You cocky sonofa—" But Brad interrupts him with a kiss and this one is all heat and lust and want because _hell, yes_. He gets to have Nate. He really does.

"Kissing is a little awkward with you grinning like that," Nate says after a while. "You look like cat who just ate a canary."

Brad laughs. "The intel we've gathered so far indicates that this could be a lengthy operation. Maybe we should dig in for the night."

"I knew they made you a staff sergeant for good reason."

"You have no idea." Taking a second to adjust himself, Brad grabs Nate's arm and pulls him out of the stall just as a man walks in. Brad hesitates for a second, instinctively wanting to let go of Nate's arm. _Fuck it_, he decides and grips it tighter.

"This way," he says to Nate, pulling him toward the bar instead of their table. Nate calls the bartender over to settle his tab and then Brad drags them over to the drunk nursing his rye.

He slaps his hand on Poke's shoulder. "Thanks, man. You can head out now."

Nate's mouth opens in shock. "What the—?"

"Poke was back up," Brad clarifies. "In case you left with Baldy before I could stop you."

"You turned this into a mission?"

Brad shrugs. "It's how I deal with things. Besides, everything goes to shit in the field, but that's no excuse for poor planning."

"Please tell me you didn't write orders..."

"Have a good night, dogs," Poke interrupts and tips his baseball hat as he gets up. Then he turns to Nate with a smile. "You treat this boy right, you understand, sir? I don't do this shit no more and the wife gets edgy when Brad starts talking radio frequencies."

"I'll keep that in mind," Nate replies, patting Tony on the arm. "Radio?" he says dryly to Brad. "I'm surprised you didn't drag Ray into this as well."

Brad grimaces. "Oh yeah." He pulls some twenties out of his pocket and passes them to Poke. "Here, take these. Ray's outside and will be disappointed that there was no high speed chase. Find him a cheap hooker and a karaoke bar if you don't mind. Otherwise he'll be calling and harassing us all night."

After Poke leaves, Nate has his arms crossed in front of his chest, studying Brad. "Any other surprises you want to share?"

"I didn't requisition any air support."

Nate rolls his eyes. "Are you going to be filing an after action report when we're done, as well?"

Brad pulls Nate closer, blowing and tickling his ear with his tongue until Nate shudders and falls against him. "Maybe. But I promise to make it real dirty and for your eyes only. How about that?"

"Better," Nate says as if he's thinking about it. "But then we'd better get on with finding something dirty to do. It's important for the AAR to accurately describe events that actually occurred, don't you think?"

Brad nods sagely. "Your officer wisdom shines through again, sir. I knew they made you a captain for a good reason. Let's get out of here and see what dirty things a couple of marines can come up with."


End file.
